


Morning Glory

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Multi, Nonmonogamy, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosie and Sam talk about Frodo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Glory

**Author's Note:**

> I decided that if I'm going to inflict multiple past challenges on the good folks of [](http://community.livejournal.com/ringprov/profile)[**ringprov**](http://community.livejournal.com/ringprov/), I should try to do two at once. So this is for Challenge #7 (the characters discuss a lost loved one) and challenge #8 (word and mood: lush, stone, frail, rug; bittersweet). Even if I didn't write R/S/F I would find it very hard to believe that Sam didn't discuss Frodo with Rosie.

The first time Rosie asked Sam to tell her the story it was two weeks after the Lithe that had changed everything, because she needed to know. The second time she asked it was a hot September day, and she asked because she liked to hear the tale. The third time it was a stolen November evening in a warm hayrack, and they were both proddy; she wound her legs tighter round his waist while he told her in broken whispers, and she peaked three times during the telling alone.

Now it was a September morning, so early the very first grey light of dawn blended with the moonlight, and Rosie woke to smothered sobbing. Sam lay curled on his side, his face buried in the pillow, his shoulders shaking. Feeling as if she'd swallowed a cold stone, Rosie turned to him, rubbing her cheek along his broad back as she slid her arm around him. "Sam," she whispered, kissing the nape of his neck.

"I dreamt of him, Rosie," Sam whispered back in a tear-choked voice. "I dreamt of him in my arms, smiling, laughing, no scars, no pain, and then I woke, and, Rose, I'm sorry, you know I want to wake with you, but…"

"I love you, Samwise." Rosie laid her next kiss to Sam's hair. "And you love him, I've known that since we were small. I know, Sam. Shh." With a final shudder, Sam lay still in her arms, and Rosie kissed his neck and hair and ears, lightly, soothingly, until he took a deep breath and turned to face her, draping an arm over her waist, red-eyed but smiling. "I'm right lucky to have you, my Rose," he said, his eyes full of only her, and she smiled, blushing slightly, and kissed his nose. "I love you, Sam."

"And I you, Rosie." But then he blinked, and his eyes were shadowed again, full of someone else, someone far away. "Many a lass wouldn't care to be sharing her husband's heart."

Rosie kissed Sam again with sympathy and sorrow and only a touch of resentment. "It's not every hobbit who has a heart as big as the Shire, " she told him, winning another smile. "And I miss Mr. Frodo, too. Not as you do, no one could, but I miss him."

"I know." Sam pulled her closer, burying his face in her curls, and Rosie held him as best she could, brushing his legs soothingly with her foot-curls and stroking his back with her hands. He breathed slowly and deeply, chest warm and broad against her, until she thought he might be asleep again, but then he spoke in a low voice. "I dreamt of my coming of age birthday," he said.

"Tell me, Sam," Rosie replied, and Sam pulled back a little, laying his hand on her collarbone, fingers gently stroking, as he began to tell the story they both knew.

"We'd danced around each other so long, wanting and caring and knowing that we could lose each other if we touched, if my Gaffer learned of it. I might be able to read, but it's still not so easy to be friends only in letters, and, well, now I know the meaning of 'far', but then Tighfield seemed as far away as the Moon. It was hard sometimes, for me and Mr. Frodo, and for our kissing-friends, not least Mr. Merry, who'd been with both of us and wished to see us together, but there was never anyone like Mr. Frodo, and I'd have some of him rather than none, I ever would." Sam's breath hitched as he spoke, and Rosie kissed the line of his jaw; he kissed her nose, his hand stroking across her skin, and went on.

"It didn't change all at once. With time, my Gaffer was surer of leaving the Bag End garden in my hands, and I was surer that he'd not send me away, no matter what lay between me and Mr. Frodo. Still, though we spent the odd noon or night together----remember when I started liking snow?" Rosie giggled in response, her hands never pausing as they roamed Sam's broad back----"there wasn't ever a night we could plan to have, till my coming of age."

Rosie licked her finger and drew it in circles round Sam's nipple, feeling the ring of little bumps rise, feeling his breathing hitch for a more pleasant reason. "What did you tell your Gaffer?" she asked, smiling in anticipation of the answer.

"That I wished to watch the stars with Mr. Frodo." Sam blushed, as he always did, and she grinned and kissed his cheek, feeling the heat of his blush against her lips; then she gasped, as Sam gently pinched her nipple before fanning his fingers out over her breast, and giggled, and turned her face to kiss him. "I don't doubt you saw stars," Rosie said slyly, and Sam smiled, blushing all the harder. "That was the first time he ever, well, tupped me; we'd both taken fingers and all, but it was still different."

"It is," Rosie nodded. "Lass or lad, it feels like being made over all new. At least, that's how I felt in your arms, the first time we did," she added, a little more shyly, closing her eyes as she spoke; when she opened them Sam's gaze was so warm and deep she could have fallen in. "You'll give me a swelled head, Rosie," he murmured huskily, and she trailed her hand down across his chest, saying, "I hope so," with a cheeky grin.

Sam kissed her for reply, warm and sweet; then he went on with the tale, one hand slowly combing through her curls as the other stroked warm circles on her belly. "And the next morning, he said I knew what I would be about now, so he bade me tup him, and he had That Look in those blue eyes, that there was no saying aught but 'aye' to." Rosie nodded; she'd seen That Look a time or two herself; it was like strong pale hands round your wrists, in your hair, pulling you in.

Then she remembered, and laughed so that she had to press her hand to her mouth to not wake Elanor and Frodo-lad in their cradles in the next room. "That's what befell that rug in the small parlor, with the goose-grease stain, the one you'll never let me throw out, " Rosie giggled. "The one that makes the whole smial smell of roast goose when the fire's blazing." She would have said more, but Sam stopped her mouth with another kiss, stroking her lips with his tongue and her hair with his fingers till her giggles faded to moans.

Rosie kissed him back for a long warm moment, then eased her mouth away, drawing her fingers though the curls on his chest as she murmured, "So, Sam, why didn't you tell me?" She smiled as she felt his blush spread all the way down from his face to beneath her fingertips. "You were finally in Mr. Frodo's bed, and you and I had been walking out together for years, and you let him know of me, but you didn't let anyone know of him."

"Oh, Rose, you'll tease me on this till we're grey and bent, you will." Sam shook his head even as he laughed. "You know why."

"I want to hear it." Rosie grinned, merciless, and Sam heaved a sigh. "I just, with him my master and all, many folk might not understand. You would, you did, but every time I tried to tell you the words stuck in my throat and my face turned red and you kissed me. "

"Like this?" Rosie kissed Sam, who chuckled and gently nipped her upper lip. "Like that," he agreed, and she laughed, glad to see him so lightened. "Well, if you couldn't say on account of my kisses," she said, spreading her hand over his rounded belly, following the darker line of hair downwards, "then I must forgive you, I warrant."

"That saves me begging your pardon," Sam agreed cheerfully, and was leaning in for another kiss when he gasped instead at the caress of her clever fingers. "Rosie my lass, keep doing that and I'll be finished before the tale is."

Rosie smirked a little, drawing her fingers upward, then bringing them to her lips; Sam watched her, his lips parting and eyes darkening, and she smiled around the two fingers in her mouth. With two babes and another on the way she sometimes felt like an old married gammer; it was always a pleasure to bask in her husband's lush, desirous gaze.

But then Sam's gaze clouded, his eyes filling, and Rosie reached up to put her hand on his cheek. "Sam?"

"You learned that from him." Sam blinked, and a tear escaped; Rosie, startled into memory, felt her own eyes prickle. She remembered learning that gesture that crackle-hot Yule, the second festival she had danced with Sam and Mr. Frodo; she remembered Sam's delicious blush as he watched Mr. Frodo laving his fingers like they were a prick, remembered thinking 'I must try that!'. She remembered the fire they three had lit that midwinter's night, and saw that memory in Sam's eyes, as he shook his head and kissed the heel of her hand and continued in a firmer voice. "When you did that I remembered the sight of him doing it."

"'Twas a sight, indeed," Rosie agreed. "Mr. Frodo, there was never a hobbit like him. I watched you two sleep that Yule morning, and asked myself how I'd ever come by such fortune as to have two such hobbits, so different and both so fair, in my arms."

"I woke up between you and thought the same, thought what a glory it was to lie there with the Sun on my one side and the Moon on the other." Sam smiled, though his eyes were sad again, and Rosie stroked his cheek; he turned his head to catch two of her fingers, and she giggled as he twisted his tongue round them. "And you learned your poet's mouth from him," she breathlessly accused; after another lick Sam released her fingers to give her a happier smile, broad and beautiful.

Rosie wound her arms a bit more firmly round Sam, fingers in his hair. "Those were fine years. Fine indeed. I wonder what could have been, if that Ring hadn't come to Mr. Frodo."

"I wonder sometimes myself," Sam replied soberly, stroking her hair again. "But then I set it aside. Could even the Wise know? For a half-wit hobbit it hardly bears thinking on."

Rosie snorted, shaking her head. "Samwise Gamgee," she muttered, "I wish your Gaffer had named you better. You're no half-wit. You're one of the finest hobbits the Shire's ever held, and you've proved it time over time, as all the Shire sees, as Mr. Frodo himself told me." She had more to say, but Sam was regarding her with a mix of fear and merriment that stopped the words in her mouth long enough for him to kiss her soundly. "Oh, my Rosie, you'd stand for me to anyone, even my own self."

"Well, I won't have anyone run down my husband," Rosie replied, trying to sound stern, and not coming within a country mile of it; Sam merely rolled onto his back, laughing with such gladness Rosie couldn't help but join in even as she tried to say, "shush! Don't wake the babes!" Sam quieted soon, though his eyes still twinkled, and he lifted Rosie to his chest. "Ah, my Rose, I love you, I do."

"And I you, Sam." Rosie leaned forward to kiss him, getting her knees beneath her; she sank down onto him, drinking down his moan, and that was the end of talking for a sweet hot while. Even so, when Sam peaked he sobbed, and Rosie kissed away his tears, and afterwards as Sam held her she could feel his mood in his fingers, even before he whispered,"I do miss him."

"I know, Sam dear." Rosie reached up to touch a last tear away from the corner of his eye; Sam turned his head slightly to kiss the palm of her hand. "In my dream, at the end, he was so frail, nearly so you could see through him, as he was at the Havens. Sometimes, when I wonder, I wonder how he fares."

Rosie took a breath, gathering up her hope. "He must fare well there, Sam. He must. It's what he left us to seek, though he loved us. It's what my heart tells me, or I couldn't bear his being gone." Gazing on her with warm deep eyes, Sam considered this for a moment; then he nodded slowly, looking comforted. Rosie smiled at him as cheeringly as she could and leaned forward to kiss him again, but at that moment a piercing wail echoed through their bedroom, and soon another scream joined in descant.

Sam sighed and helped Rosie climb off him. "Mornin', Mistress Rose."

"Mornin', Master Samwise." Rosie returned his wry smile as she slid off the bed. "They _did_ sleep late today; Frodo-lad likely needs to nurse. See to Elanor?"

"Aye." Sam caught the nightshirt Rosie tossed to him; she pulled hers on and reached for him, and hand in hand the Gamgees of Bag End walked out into their morning.


End file.
